


Arriving at the Crossroads

by HigherMagic



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alpha Hannibal Lecter, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Bottom Will Graham, Courting Rituals, Creampie, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper, Knotting, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Mating Bites, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mpreg, Nesting, Omega Will Graham, Oral Knotting, Pregnant Sex, Top Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham Finds Out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:01:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27231643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HigherMagic/pseuds/HigherMagic
Summary: "You haven't been my psychiatrist for a long time," Will echoes. "But you've been my friend. You've helped me. With…" He gestures vaguely to his head. "When my brain was on fire. On consults. When it's dark and I need a guiding light.""It pleases me very greatly to be a source of comfort and reassurance for you, Will," Hannibal says. "I have wanted to be that for you, for a long time."
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 79
Kudos: 1225





	Arriving at the Crossroads

There are certain crossroads in life that demand a choice. Left, or right. Climb the mountain, circle it, plow right through. Dare to cross the river at its widest and deepest, or search for safer passage without braving the icy depths.

Reach for the Omega who came running to him, flushed with preheat and shaken to the bone, or give Will Neutral and send him home with an order for fluids and rest.

Hannibal will insist to his dying day that he gave the second option thorough consideration. No matter how beautiful Will had looked, shaking and trembling, his scent so utterly sweet, soft whines spilling from him as he'd paced Hannibal's office, Hannibal is not that kind of monster. He does not mount the unwilling, there is no pleasure in that for him.

But as he had watched Will, watched Will pace with slick staining his clothes, sweat dampening and darkening his hair, watched Will rub at his neck and then over everything in Hannibal's office he could touch, he could not deny the facts, laid before him like notes on a patient's chart.

Will came to him. He didn't go to a heat clinic, he didn't lock himself up at home. He didn't call. He came running, to Hannibal. No hesitation, no reservation. He had chosen to plow through the mountain, to forge through the river. Veered left; the path to glory. The path to reckless abandon.

And if Hannibal had, still, tried to maintain decorum and resisted his instincts, his need to claim the brilliant, beautiful thing that had found its way into his lair, when Will turns, and meets his eyes, so fiercely Hannibal feels it right to his soul, golden-laced and so full of need, of hope, any thoughts of professionalism fade like mist in a strong breeze.

The clarity that strikes him then, it's enviable. To see every path laid in front of him, to have Will in his arms, panting under his hands, arching and moaning, legs spread, gaze blindly searching. Those thoughts rise up in him now, relentless and powerful.

He tries, Lord help him, he tries. "I can give you something, give you enough time to get home," he says, even as he prowls to Will, stalks him like a lioness on a hunt. Will doesn't move. He's found his way to the ladder, back turned to the room, petting each rung, the sides of it, up and down. The sight of Will's neck, flushed and shining with sweat, heart hammering so hard it's almost visible, the _scent_ of him. It's delicious. It's mouthwatering.

"Will." He does not touch. He can't, not yet. Will must come to him willingly. More than just blindly following memory to Hannibal's office. He must reach first. Omega must reach first.

"Hannibal," Will breathes, turning his head, cheek against the side of the ladder. His eyes are on Hannibal's shoes, lashes low, pupils glazed and thickening with gold. It would be so easy to press himself to Will's back, to mount him right there. Hannibal can smell how slick Will is, preheat now full-blown. Will's lips are bruised from his own teeth and Hannibal wants to kiss him so desperately. He wants Will on his knees, on his hands and knees, bent over the desk, pressed up against the ladder. He wants Will sobbing with pleasure, wants him hoarse and raw. Wants him, wants him, _wants him_ -.

"Hannibal," Will says again, shoulders rising up, inviting Hannibal to admire the arch of his back. The curve of his ass, the thickness of his thighs. Perfect cuts, all. Hannibal's mouth floods with saliva, he takes a step closer. Will whimpers, the sound like a nail straight through Hannibal's skull. His own need for Will threatens to overwhelm him.

Will turns, standing on unsteady legs. "I'm…so tired of fighting this," he confesses, dares to lift his eyes for a fraction of a second, but that's all Hannibal needs. He's drawn to Will, call it a mating bond or gravity or magnetism.

He takes another step closer.

Will swallows a sound. Hannibal knows it was needy. Omegas have evolved noises only Alphas can hear, sweet whines and plaintive mewls, supplicative, to tug at their chosen Alpha's need to protect and provide for them.

Hannibal has already done that, in spades. He diagnosed and cured Will's encephalitis, knowing it would make Will trust him. He stood by Will's side against Freddie, and Jack, and even Alana when he needed to. He has ingratiated himself to Will's dogs, embedded his scent in Omega's home, put food in Will's belly and slicked his throat with heady wine.

There are certain crossroads. Life is a series of them. Will has reached his next one – possibly the most significant one. He can run, and forget, and beg forgiveness for his slip in decorum, for tempting Hannibal, for threatening to ruin his professional standing and their friendship with his untethered need.

Or, he can lean into it.

Will meets his eyes again. Hannibal can tell how much effort it takes to hold the gaze, to not flinch, or dip his head, not to bow and defer and _beg_. Will's knees shake. If he sinks to them, Hannibal is lost. He cannot resist such a sweet temptation, even if he wanted to.

"Please," Will whispers, and reaches out with a trembling hand. "Turn me away or fucking _touch_ me."

Hannibal smiles. There it is.

He takes Will's hand and pulls him away from the ladder. Will stumbles into his arms with a gasp, clawing at Hannibal's shoulder with his free hand, meeting him for a kiss. It makes every inch of Will tense, new slick beading and running down his thighs. He's wanton, desperate, pawing at Hannibal, whispering soft 'Yes's and making rough, high noises against Hannibal's mouth, his jaw, his neck. Hannibal can't help the snarl he lets out, as he takes Will by the hair, turns him, and flattens him over his desk.

" _Yes_ ," Will groans, gripping the far edge, pens and notebook shoved away. He spreads his legs without prompting and Hannibal is far less polite than he otherwise would be, with Will's clothes. An animal need has come for him, chasing him down the left-hand path. He steps up behind Will and tugs at his slacks and underwear without undoing them.

Will whimpers, cheek on the desk, eyes hazy and unfocused, blinking off to the side. " _Please_ ," he says again, a tinge of Voice in there from Garrett Jacob Hobbs' blood getting into his mouth. The fact that it's not _Hannibal_ 's blood that gave him his Voice fills him with rage, but he forces himself not to take it out on Will.

His beautiful creature, this man of ocean tides and gunmetal and glory, just waiting to be unleashed.

Hannibal covers him, purring as Will moans and arches against him, no decency left, just the primal need of an in-heat Omega to be mounted and filled. He tugs at the back of Will's button-down until the buttons rip at the top, scattering along the desk. Will whimpers at his show of strength and eagerly offers Hannibal's prize: his neck, the exposed nape. Hannibal nuzzles Will's sweaty hair out of the way and bites down hard enough to break skin.

Will cries out, seizing in pain and ecstasy, spilling untouched over Hannibal's desk and the floor beneath. Good, _good boy_. Hannibal purrs the words into his sweet Omega's ear, holding him down by his neck as he rises up and works his cock free, knot already half-swollen.

Blood wells up between his fingers and Will _moans_ as Hannibal pushes inside him. His nails catch on the edge of the desk. "Yes, Hannibal, _fuck_ , please, please. I need you, _please_."

"How long?" Hannibal demands, baring his teeth at the way Will's ass clenches around him, desperately, begging he fuck deeper, harder. He doesn't, not yet, merely relishes how Will ruts back onto him and whimpers pitifully against the desk. He tightens his hand on the back of Will's neck, prompting laxness, submission. "How long have you wanted me, Will?"

"Honestly?" Will's laugh is shaky, cheeks flushed, eyes golden and glazed. "Since the first moment we met."

Hannibal's upper lip twitches back. He could have had this beautiful boy pinned beneath him for _weeks_. "You said nothing," he whispers, pulling back and rutting in again, hips pressed flush to Will's ass. Will whimpers, rising to his toes, legs unable to spread any wider but _God_ , he's certainly trying. Good boy.

"I'm sorry, Alpha," Will replies, with another plaintive sound.

Hannibal growls, tightening his grip further, free hand pushing Will's shirt up to bare his lower back. He looks down. The sight of himself buried in Will's slick, tight hole almost threatens to bring his knot out before he's ready. Will coats him so thoroughly, his body so desperate, eager, _ready_.

He fucks in again, causing Will to spasm and cry out loudly. It's a good thing Hannibal has no neighbors in his office, for they would certainly hear, and Will's sounds of pleasure are for _his_ ears only. Will's body, his blood, his needy cries, all for him. Hannibal licks blood from his teeth, pushes his hand up into Will's hair to free his nape, and bites down hard again.

Will whines, locking up again, his heat-addled brain and body telling him nothing but _good, be good, feel good, Alpha makes you feel so good_. The way he tightens and spasms around Hannibal is maddening, the claw marks he leaves in Hannibal's desk will haunt him for the rest of his life.

"Do you want to be mine, Will?" Hannibal growls, fucking Will with long, powerful thrusts that make Will jolt and whimper against the desk. Will nods frantically, Hannibal's white knuckles tugging on his hair. "But you already are, aren't you, my sweet, darling boy?"

" _Yes_ ," Will cries. His thighs tremble, his breath hitches. "God, Hannibal, _fuck_ me. Knot me, do whatever you fucking want, I swear, I'll -." He moans weakly, as Hannibal finds the angle he likes best, cock dragging along Will's prostate, pushing in deep. His knot keeps catching on Will's rim but Hannibal refuses to stop. He might fuck Will with his knot swollen, forcing his Omega to take him over and over again until Will begs for mercy.

Another crossroads: be merciful, or cruel. Hannibal has yet to arrive there.

"I'll be good," Will whispers, tilting his head so Hannibal can see his face. Oh, sweet boy, he has no idea what promising something like that means to a monster like Hannibal.

"I know you will, darling," Hannibal purrs. He leans over Will, bracing himself below Will's arms, removing his hand from Will's hair and smiling when Will immediately arches his neck into Hannibal's mouth. Inviting his teeth, again and again. There are already deep bruises forming on Will's flesh, the beginnings of a mating bite that will turn into an everlasting scar.

Hannibal puts a hand on Will's flat belly, relishing the thought of knotting him bare, of breeding him during his heat. It will be the ultimate claiming act, to embed his seed and his scent inside of Will, to grow something made by both of them, that will keep Will by his side forever. He angles Will up, mimicking the mounting position as best they can. Will nods frantically, lifting his head, bracing himself.

"Please," he whispers, the word barely formed by his bruised, swollen lips and his ragged throat. "Please!"

Hannibal obeys, and finds that mercy wins out. He pushes deep into Will, knot swelling up and locking them together, and reaches below Will to bring him to another orgasm, staining his hand. He makes Will lick it clean.

Will purrs weakly, sated for the moment. Hannibal will have to take him home, arrange for his dogs to be tended to, keep Will fed and hydrated while they work through his heat together. But, fortunately, that is one crossroad he has always been prepared for.

Since the moment he met Will, he knew that they would end in bloodshed or exultation. With Will's blood staining his teeth, Will panting and whimpering beneath him, still subtly rocking back onto Hannibal's thick knot and trying to get Hannibal to bite him, touch him more, cover him, protect him, _Alpha please…_

Bloodshed or exultation. Perhaps some heady mix of the two.

He takes Will home and helps him through his heat. He plants teeth in Will's neck and seed in his belly, nails marking up his flanks and thighs as additional decoration for the centerpiece; Will, flushed and desperate in the nest Hannibal hastily constructs for him in a guest bedroom.

God above, Will is beautiful. The fact that his heat snuck up on him so quickly is proof of their compatibility, Hannibal is sure of it, confirming the connection he already felt from their first meeting. Will takes him everywhere Hannibal desires, does everything Hannibal tells him with no reservation, fear, or disapproval. His mind, so addled with heat and in the presence of such a compatible Alpha, tells him that Hannibal is safe, that Will can trust him.

Will _can_ trust him. And if Hannibal has anything to say about it, he will. He will make Will ache for him, need him, _love_ him. As desperately as Hannibal wants to love him in turn.

Will is resistant, at first. Once his body and mind is cleared of heat, he moves back into his house and, for a while, avoids Hannibal as best he can. Not to the point of inciting violent reaction, he knows better, but he makes no attempt to socialize, and acts defensive when Hannibal begins offering him courting gestures.

"You don't need to court me," Will says, over a protein scramble at his little dining table because, if Hannibal did get him pregnant, he wants his Omega to start maintaining a healthy diet. He'll have to be slyer about vitamins and supplements, but those things will come in time.

Hannibal eyes him. Will doesn't. Will tries very hard to both avoid Hannibal's gaze and avoid baring his neck. He doesn't want to behave in a way that invites, but also not rejects. Alphas have killed for less. By law, with the bite in Will's neck and how Will eagerly, obviously, consented to being mounted, Hannibal could claim him and would receive no protest.

But it is so much sweeter for the lamb to willingly climb upon the altar of its slaughter, than to be placed, bound and bleating with fear.

"I know I don't need to," Hannibal replies with a smile, pretending that he thinks Will means courting is unnecessary, not unwanted. "It is unconventional, I admit, to do things in the order we have, but there is a simple pleasure in providing for one's mate."

Will's cheeks color at the word. He bites his lower lip, looks up, looks away again. "I spent the entire day in an H.R. whirlwind," he says. Hannibal tilts his head. "A student saw the bites. _Your_ bites." His voice is soft with accusation. Not enough to rile, but Hannibal does not desire Will as a declawed animal. He relishes their future together, where they can both discover at what point, exactly, Hannibal's gentleness snaps.

"Oh?" he says.

Will nods. "Had to ask if I was mated. Insurance shit." He pauses. Breathes in. "Maternity questions."

Hannibal stills his hands and looks up. "And how did that make you feel?"

Will's upper lip twitches. "Don't ask me that."

"Apologies," Hannibal says with a smile.

Will looks at him. His eyes are impossible to read. The gold in them, still lingering from his heat, dulls the surface of the lake of ice. Hannibal cannot see the depth, for the treasure inside. "I know I came to you," Will says. "I know I asked. And I know you would have let me leave if I changed my mind."

There's a question in there, a soft edge of shadow. Hannibal smiles and nods.

"If you're worried about my professional reputation, Will, your concern is lovely, but unwarranted," Hannibal tells him. "You have not been my official patient for quite some time."

Will winces, and looks down again. "I didn't…force you, did I?" he asks softly. He looks away. "I didn't force you."

"No, Will, you didn't," Hannibal promises. Seeing the subtle lines of distress around Will's mouth, darkening his beautiful eyes, makes something in Hannibal ache very deeply. He wants nothing more than to rise and embrace Will, to soothe him with gentle purrs, soft hands, kisses that hold teeth. That will make Will understand how much Hannibal desires him, wants him. It's a difficult urge to overcome, to keep himself seated at Will's table.

Will swallows harshly. There is a flash of something, there. Some satisfaction. Hannibal considers it. Was that a test? Did he pass?

He hides his smile into the next bite of food.

"You haven't been my psychiatrist for a long time," Will echoes. "But you've been my friend. You've helped me. With…" He gestures vaguely to his head. "When my brain was on fire. On consults. When it's dark and I need a guiding light."

"It pleases me very greatly to be a source of comfort and reassurance for you, Will," Hannibal says. "I have wanted to be that for you, for a long time."

Will's eyes meet his, suddenly, sharply. "I see your hand in everything." His voice is even, but his fingers subtly curl. He finished eating already, because he never refuses Hannibal's food. His knuckles whiten. "I have dreams. Stag horns ripping through my body, and when I look up it's your face, your hands, putting me there."

Hannibal considers him. Considers the gold in Will's eyes, the subtle change in his scent that has been imprinted on Hannibal's tongue as _mate_ and _home_ and _mine_.

"These dreams arouse you."

Will's lips twitch. "It's Freudian. I dream of being penetrated. You're the only frame of reference I have."

Hannibal blinks. Surely Will doesn't mean…?

Will's lips twitch again. He lifts his chin. "How does that make you _feel_?" he purrs.

"Immensely flattered," Hannibal rasps. "And somewhat chagrined. Had I known I was your first, I would have been more gentle with you."

"If I wanted gentle, I'd fuck a gentle man."

Hannibal hums in acknowledgement. If he dwells on the matter, he will lose the battle with his self-control and show Will just how _un_ gentle he truly is. "Freud's religion is a dead one," he says instead, setting his fork down. The half-finished meal no longer holds allure for him, not when Will is here, his mind and body a feast for eyes and curiosity.

"Aren't they all?" Will replies. He's smiling now. Perhaps Hannibal passed another test.

"Not those kept alive through active worship." Hannibal smiles. "Yours and mine, for example."

Will arches a brow. "Are you the god here, or the supplicant?"

"Can we not each be both? A relationship is a partnership, Will. Our secondary genders only compel us to behave certain ways. Ways that can be subverted, if you desire." Will's eyes flash. "Or that can shift and evolve as we do."

"You make it sound so simple," Will murmurs. "And so complicated."

"You said you were tired of fighting." Will winces, and nods. "I'm here, saying you never needed to fight. The decision has always been yours, Will. I'm aware of our relative positions of power, both perceived by the outside world and how convention hones our behaviors."

"I don't want to lose myself inside you," Will whispers. Hannibal's throat gets tight with the urge to snarl at him, to coax Will closer. He could lose himself. Hannibal would protect him, he _would_. "But I can't take back the things I said. They were honest."

Hannibal nods. He smiles, and offers his hand. "Then let's agree to be honest with each other," he murmurs. Will shivers. Though he just ate, he eyes Hannibal's hand like a starving man. His knuckles go white again. "There is no sense running from something we are both willing to pursue."

"Everything sounds so easy with you," Will breathes. He's still staring at Hannibal's hand. His fingers twitch, wanting to reach, and he swallows harshly enough Hannibal hears his throat click. His cheeks are red, eyes gold, body thrumming with the aftershocks of preheat. It knows this Alpha, Hannibal is the _only_ Alpha it has known. And now it craves.

Will reaches slowly, and puts his hand in Hannibal's. Hannibal's fingertips trace the heavy pulse of life in his wrist and Will trembles, lashes going low.

Hannibal lifts their hands, and kisses Will's knuckles. Will meets his eyes, lips parted, breath coming shallow and fast. Hannibal stands, and Will rises to meet him, letting Hannibal pull him close. His free hand cups Will's chin and lifts his face.

Hannibal smiles, and rests their foreheads together. Will lets out a soft, weak noise. He wets his lips, brushes their noses together in a sweet nuzzle. Oh, beautiful boy. Hannibal will ruin him for everything else.

"I think we can be good for each other, Will," he whispers. Will looks up, another tremor running down his spine at the words. _Good, yes, be good._ When Hannibal kisses him, Will melts against his chest with another rough sound, and lets Hannibal take him back to bed.

Hannibal keeps his promise. He is so good to Will, lavishing him with attention, courtship, and praise. Will comes to him eagerly every time, reluctance slowly melting away like ice in a thaw, his instincts honed so acutely to Hannibal's desires. When Hannibal has Will in his bed, he whispers praise and promises to Will's ear, saying how beautiful Will is, how good he is, how Hannibal will take care of him and make sure Will never wants for anything. Inwardly, how much he enjoys Will's fertile body taking him so eagerly.

Will must agree with him, or at least his body does. Not even two weeks later Hannibal smells the first sweetness in his Omega that hints at a second spark of life inside him. Hannibal takes Will to bed and fills his throat, pressing Will onto his back with his head hanging over the edge of the bed so that Hannibal can stare at his stomach. Flat, for now, smeared with sticky precum as Hannibal slowly strokes Will to orgasm, his Omega moaning and choking on Hannibal's cock.

Hannibal leans down and licks the come from Will's stomach, breathing in deeply. Sweetness, rich, ripe Earth like a field after rain. Mint and lemongrass, of course. Yes, his Omega is pregnant. Hannibal sired a child inside him first try.

The thought is enough to make him come, knotting Will's mouth as Will sobs around him, lips stretched wide and aching. Hannibal purrs for him and makes sure to finger Will to orgasm as a reward for taking the sudden knot behind his teeth so well. He pets slick fingers through Will's hair, cementing the scent of Will's pleasure with the pressure of a knot, with the feeling of being so _good_.

He can make Will crave being good. He will.

"Shh, darling," he whispers, when his knot goes down and he can pull out, leaving Will gasping around his own emptiness, flooded with come and saliva. Hannibal covers Will's eyes and sits him upright, pressing close to his back as Will trembles and tries to catch his breath. "You did so well, Will. I'm so proud of you." Will's lashes flutter beneath his palm. "I'm only sorry I didn't ask permission first."

He brushes his thumb along Will's pulse, and Will's breath hitches.

"Do you forgive me?"

Omegas answer most honestly after sex. From an evolutionary standpoint, Alphas are at their least aggressive and most benevolent after knotting an Omega. Which means Will can afford to be honest, and speak his mind.

He turns his head, lashes low, his bruised lips pulled into the smallest, most genuine smile. "I liked it," he rasps, cheeks colored a dark pink Hannibal wants to sink his teeth into. Will looks up, meets his eyes, and kisses Hannibal's jaw, shoulders low. Unafraid, how novel. Hannibal wants to destroy him with affection.

"Will you do it again?" Will asks. Hannibal blinks at him and Will merely smiles and kisses his cheek. "And again, and again, I just…"

Insatiable boy. It will only get worse as he becomes more gravid. The closer to the end of his term, the less he will be able to bear the physicality of Hannibal's affections, and so he must be eager and willing in the beginning, and sweet enough to outlast any potential mate's impatience.

Hannibal is aware of all of this. But, as it is so often with Will, being aware of something does not make him powerful enough to stop its effects.

"Any time you ask," Hannibal promises, and kisses Will deeply, swallowing his little whimper and smiling when Will paws at him, the whimper turning into a more aggressive, demanding growl when Hannibal does not immediately lunge for him.

"Right now," Will demands, and bites Hannibal's neck. "Right _now_."

Hannibal snarls, and obeys.

Although Hannibal smells it right away, he does not tell Will that he is pregnant. Part of him thinks that Will would want to tell him himself, and another part of him simply enjoys knowing something about Will's body that Will doesn't. It's like the encephalitis. The fevered sweetness of their growing child makes Will's scent thick and crisp, like burning sage. Touching Will when he's in the height of prenatal desire, emotions more attuned to Hannibal, attentions more easily received, more physical, it's hedonistic and indulgent and Hannibal has always had an insatiable appetite. Combined with his seed in Will's wine, the hormones of his pregnancy are exacerbated, the bonding mark compelling Will to build a nest with his Alpha, so that Alpha can keep him and his child safe.

Will waits six more weeks to tell him. To ensure his heat simply is not late, Hannibal assumes. He has stopped drinking the special wine Hannibal makes for him, but that's alright – Hannibal put himself in the juice Will nurses, and does not comment when Will asks for it until they are settled at dinner.

Will's hand keeps moving to his stomach and stopping, wary of giving himself away. It's delightful to watch, he's so nervous and flustered, clearly wishing for liquid courage but unable to indulge by the nature of the very thing that makes him afraid.

Will eyes him, like Hannibal is a subject of study. As though there is a note of paternal instinct in the way Hannibal holds his fork, or drinks his wine, or smiles. Hannibal has gone out of his way to appear as a caring and attentive mate. He soothes Will's need for a knot, has created a nest for him, provides Will with food and comfort in overwhelming amounts. He is a good provider, that is for certain. Hannibal can see these thoughts pass behind Will's eyes like ships in the night.

Perhaps, Hannibal thinks, he will wait until after sex. When Hannibal is, in theory, at his most generous and calm. After Will has been soothed by an orgasm, and no longer afraid, with a fresh bite in his neck to join the collar already formed.

Will swallows the last of his water, and shakes his head when Hannibal reaches for the pitcher to refill it. "Thank you, no," he says. Hannibal nods and sits back in his seat. Will clears his throat and nudges the end of his knife and fork, staring down at his empty plate.

"If you're still hungry, there's plenty more," Hannibal offers.

Will laughs shakily and rubs a hand over his mouth. "No, thank you, it was more than enough." He gives Hannibal a fond look, a rare glimpse of true, unbridled affection. It tempers the sour note of distress in his scent and makes Hannibal smile.

It's clear that Will is waiting for an opening of some kind. He's naturally deferential to Hannibal, content to let him guide the schedule of the evening after dinner. Hannibal could invite him to the study, or up to bed, or simply keep speaking to him. Will never complains either way. And Hannibal is tempted to simply let the evening take their natural course, but he's so curious.

"You seem distracted," he says. Will immediately tenses. "Is there something on your mind? Some detail of the case that's troubling you?" When Will doesn't answer, he continues, "Have you been having more bad dreams?"

Will shakes his head, and doesn't stop himself from putting a hand on his stomach this time. He freezes, realizing what he's done, and bites his lower lip. "No," he says, and peels his hand away, placing it on his thigh. "No bad dreams."

"I'm glad," Hannibal says, smiling.

He feels like he can physically see Will standing at his crossroads again. To confess, or to hide his pregnancy for another day. Hannibal understands; if Will keeps his secret for now, he doesn't have to face the consequences. Of Hannibal potentially rejecting him, of demanding he take care of it, or perhaps of immediately sealing Will inside his home and reducing him to the life of the barefoot and pregnant. Hannibal understands that these are possibilities, but none of them are things he would consider, and absently he wonders if Will truly does think him capable of it.

Will clenches his jaw and breathes in. "Hannibal, I'm pregnant," he says. Simply blurting out the words. "And before you ask, yes, it's yours."

"I didn't assume otherwise," Hannibal says, unable to keep the amusement from his voice. "I would have smelled another Alpha on you. And, if I may speak plainly, you haven't had the time to be courted by two."

Will's cheeks flush, and then his eyes narrow. "You don't seem very surprised." He looks at Hannibal. "Did you know? Did you smell it?"

"Yes," Hannibal says.

Will blinks at him, and then laughs shortly. "Of course you did."

"I wanted you to tell me when you were ready."

Will nods, and presses his lips together. He swallows. "And…how do you feel about it?"

"I'm overjoyed, Will. It's proof of our compatibility." Will hums. "But I understand if it's something that you might not be as excited about."

Will considers this, returning a hand to his stomach. "Actually…I kind of am?" he confesses, and laughs sheepishly. "I mean. I never thought about it that much. Becoming a mother. And now I just…. I don't know." He swallows again. "I feel like it changes things, but that it also doesn't have to. My mind's been running a mile a minute with how you might react."

"I hope I'm living up to expectations."

Will smiles, and gives him another fond look. "You always exceed them."

Hannibal is quiet, taking a moment to appreciate how warm he feels when Will says things like that. His Omega's affections are subdued at the best of times, and so strike Hannibal all the more harshly when they're expressed. "I care about and admire you very much, Will," he says. "If you would like to continue working, I won't stop you. If you want to retire and choose another vocation, or none at all, I am more than willing to support you, and every child you give me."

Will laughs lowly. "One kid at a time, Doctor Lecter."

Another surge of heat passes through Hannibal at the implication of _more_. Of Will so happily joking about it. He purrs quietly and Will's eyes flash, lashes lowering at the sound.

"So…that's it then?" Will asks, and meets his eyes. "My decision?"

"Your decision," Hannibal agrees. "It always has been." Will smiles. "However," Will's expression smooths out slightly, and he tilts his head, "I think I must insist, if we are to do this properly, that we mate. If nothing else, it will allow me access to your prenatal care and possible legal and insurance obstacles."

Will considers him, and then blushes lightly. "So simple," he marvels. "I was under the impression we were already mated. Has something been lacking?"

Hannibal eyes Will's neck, and he presses his lips together. "I would…be honored if you would bite me back, Will," he says. Will's eyes widen. "I know it's not necessary, but I could think of no greater pleasure than wearing your mark, as you wear mine. To bond with you permanently."

Will's lips part in a soundless gasp. His eyes are so bright, he's so utterly beautiful. He rises from his chair so suddenly it makes a loud sound when it skates back. Hannibal smiles, and rises to meet his Omega as Will comes to him and kisses him deeply.

"Upstairs," Will demands, taking both of Hannibal's hands. Taking the lead. Hannibal laughs, and happily follows.

There are certain crossroads at major points in a person's life. Statistics will say that you will make the wrong decision fifty percent of the time.

Statistics is just math that is capable of lying.

The sourness of distress is what he smells, first, and immediately he's on high alert.

He didn't receive a call from Will while out, which is not unusual. His mate is far from demanding when Hannibal is not around. He doesn't like to impose, and still thinks it necessary that he's self-sufficient. An endearing mindset, one Hannibal is happy to indulge when it suits. It means he has been able to continue seeing patients, and Will is much happier to see him when he gets home, like a loyal dog.

Will has gotten to the point where he can't be on his feet for very long without needing to lie down and rest. He sleeps a lot in the nest Hannibal moved into his bedroom, surrounded by soft blankets and pillows interspersed with clothes Hannibal wears, for a day or so before he washing them and replaces them with fabrics that hold a fresher scent.

Hannibal adores the sight of Will in his nest, sleepy and sweet, normally flushed with warmth and pliant when Hannibal touches him. Despite his exhaustion, he's still so eager, surprisingly so considering how uncomfortable he must be. He doesn't protest when Hannibal pushes one of his thighs up and mounts him from behind, holding Will's large stomach with gentle hands as he uses Will like a doll, an open and wet vessel for his cock, his teeth, his knot. The scent of his slick, sweeter with his pregnancy, is so divine. Hannibal can't wait to experiment with drinks and glazes made from Will's post-partum slick, and his milk, and everything else Will can offer him.

But that scent is not what greets him now.

Hannibal frowns, and hangs his coat before he enters the house to investigate. "Will?" he calls, first going upstairs and checking the nest. Will is not there, so he goes back downstairs and hears a shuffling from the kitchen. "Will, darling, are you alright?"

He smells spilled juice, first, and sees the stain on the floor. He frowns, and then his attention is drawn to the open pantry. And, inside it, the lifted hatch in the floorboards that leads down to the basement.

He sighs. Oh dear.

He walks down the stairs slowly, ready for anything. He finds Will in the basement, sitting on the cold floor, his hair soaked and black with sweat, eyes blazing a brilliant gold, holding his stomach. He's breathing hard and there's a puddle of moisture all around him. His water broke.

"Will," Hannibal says, his voice harsh with surprise and concern. He approaches, and Will looks up.

For the first time, he flinches from Hannibal. "Don't touch me," he snarls, baring his fangs. "Don't, oh _fuck_ , I -." He shudders, biting down hard on his lower lip as he trembles with another contraction. His wild eyes look around the room. Hannibal can see where the juice dripped from the kitchen floor, giving Will a clue of the basement's existence.

He could explain away a lot of things, but the recent bloodstains from his hunt, and the pile of bones in a basin in the corner are damning.

"What is this?" Will demands, like he doesn't know. "What am I looking at?"

"Will -."

"Don't touch me!" Will snarls. "What the fuck am I looking at, Hannibal?"

"The truth, I suppose," Hannibal replies. He crouches near Will, his mouth flooded with saliva at the scent of Will's fear and distress. Will groans, tipping his head back, sweaty and bruised throat flexing as he tries to breathe through the pain. The shock must have sent him into an early labor.

"No," Will says weakly. "No. I'm dreaming."

"I'd rather you not insult your intelligence, or mine," Hannibal replies.

Will laughs, short and hysterical. "Or what?" he hisses. "You gonna kill me too?"

Hannibal frowns. The reaction to that accusation is visceral, and he tries not to let it show in his voice. "Of course not, darling. I would never hurt you." Will laughs again, shaking his head. "Will, have I ever harmed you? Why would I start now?"

"You're hurting me now," Will snaps. "Just…tell me I'm crazy. I'm hallucinating. Tell me there's a reasonable explanation for this."

"There is a reasonable explanation," Hannibal says calmly. "Just not one you're willing to accept." Will shakes his head again, sweat dripping from his hair. He shudders and his knuckles go white around his stomach. Hannibal can smell blood, fresh blood, and the influx of hormones that precede a live birth. "Will, we need to get you to a hospital."

"No," Will groans. "No, I can't -." He grunts, going lax as the contraction ends, and draws in a shaky breath. "I can't move. I don't want to go anywhere with you."

The rejection of his touch, of their bond, hurts Hannibal more deeply than he anticipated. He presses his lips together and considers his options. Another crossroads. He could simply force Will to come with him, Will is in no state to put up much of a fight. He could be cruel, and wait until pain overwhelms Will and he begs Hannibal to help him. But that could result in complications. He could lose one or both of them if he leaves Will here.

He could bring a medical team here, but they would see the basement, so that's not an option either.

"Will." He takes Will's hand. Will snarls at him, weakly, his grip strong and nails digging into Hannibal's hand to try and get him to let go. Their eyes meet. "Will. My darling. My mate. Let me help you. Let me prove that, for everything else I've done, I only want you to be happy and safe." Will doesn't answer. "You're putting yourself through so much more pain than you need to. There is medicine at the hospital, and doctors who are equipped to help you."

"What's the point of fucking a doctor if you can't help me?"

Hannibal's smile is faint. "You don't want me to touch you, right?"

Will's answer is lost in another spasm of pain. He whimpers, the sound so desperate and awful to Hannibal's ears. "Will." He kneels in the puddle of growing slick and blood and cups Will's sweaty cheek. "Will. I can't lose you. I don't want to lose either of you."

He puts a hand on Will's stomach. He can feel so much pressure against it, their child getting ready to move, to leave. They decided to keep the sex and gender a secret, a surprise. Will wanted to surprise him.

Hannibal beat him to the punch.

Will sobs, curling up on himself as tightly as he's able. "Fuck, it hurts so much," he whispers.

"They can help with that, at the hospital," Hannibal promises. "I will make sure you get the best care. That you both will." Will trembles. "Will, please. _Please_."

Will whimpers, and draws in a breath through his teeth. "Fuck, _fine_. Fine. Just -." He lets go and tries to push himself upright on shaky legs. Hannibal helps him immediately, wrapping an arm under Will's shoulders and another keeping his large stomach steady. Will stumbles, clinging to him despite his fear and anger. His body knows its Alpha, despite everything else.

Hannibal smiles, and kisses Will's hair. "Come, darling. I'll take care of you, as I always have."

Will closes his eyes, and says nothing.

It's a difficult birth, and it takes hours. It takes a lifetime.

Hannibal has to be removed from the room when Will is taken to surgery, Will screaming the entire time, loud enough for Hannibal to snarl and contemplate murdering every single person separating himself and his mate. He paces endlessly, back and forth, in Will's room, and his heart goes still when the screaming finally stops.

It's just for the surgery, he tells himself. They had to sedate Will. They have to cut him open. The thought of anyone else's hands inside _his_ Omega makes him feel like a monster, a feral creature that is only created to destroy.

When a nurse comes into the room, without Will, he fears the worst. But she smiles. "He's okay," she tells him soothingly. "They're both okay."

Hannibal exhales, and nods.

"We're bringing him back now," she continues, and then laughs a little. "It was quite an ordeal. He was ranting about all kinds of nonsense." Hannibal looks at her. "Apparently you're a serial killer."

Hannibal forces himself to smile. It's clear the nurse doesn't believe him. Patients have said all kinds of things while in pain, or on medication. "I'll make sure he gets plenty of rest," he promises. He stands when the door opens, and Will is wheeled in. He's groggy but awake, and the scent of morphine, of blood, of antibacterial and gauze is powerful on his skin. Hannibal wants to rub him clean of it all, but he forces himself to wait.

He sees what's in Will's arms, and time stands still.

"We'll leave you to it," the nurse says, and leaves with her team.

Hannibal approaches the side of Will's bed, slowly. The little bundle in Will's arms is a white blanket, a small face just barely peeking out. Its eyes are closed.

Will turns his head and looks at Hannibal. His eyes are glazed and heavy, shining with gold. He reaches for Hannibal, and then stops halfway, remembering himself. Hannibal doesn't let him retreat. He takes Will's hand and sits by his bedside, kissing his wrist with a reverential air.

"I've decided," he says. "I am most definitely your supplicant."

Will huffs, and winces at the tug on his body. "I've never felt more mortal," he confesses. He looks down at the child in his arms. "It's a girl."

A girl. Hannibal's heart goes utterly still.

"Do you have a name for her?" he asks.

Will shakes his head.

"We can decide later," Hannibal says, and meets Will's eyes. "If my opinion on the matter still means anything to you."

Will's brow creases.

"Will, I know today has been fraught, and the emotional and physical toll is large. I beg you, stay with me." Hannibal holds his hand in both of his own, kissing Will's knuckles again. "Stay."

"Where else would I go?" Will asks tiredly.

"Anywhere you desire, my love. I swore I wouldn't cage you."

Will's lips twitch, the barest of an affectionate smile. "I don't believe you," he says fondly.

"I promised to be honest with you, so I'll say I don't truly believe myself, either," Hannibal confesses. "And my sins of omission are…large."

"Devastating," Will says. He sighs. "Understandable, but devastating." His fingers extend, so he can brush them across Hannibal's cheek. He looks back down at their daughter. "She looks like you. Of course she does." His eyes shine, and he swallows harshly. "We have a lot to talk about."

"When you're ready," Hannibal promises. "No more lies. As long as you stay."

"Sounds like a cage."

"I'm right there with you."

Will hums, his eyes falling closed. He squeezes Hannibal's hands.

"Will," Hannibal whispers, and receives another tired hum. "…May I hold her?"

Will's lips twitch in a small smile. He nods, and Hannibal stands, gently taking this small, beautiful thing from his Omega's arms. He sits again as she lets out a weak cry at being disturbed, and opens her eyes. Most children come out of the womb blue-eyed, and gain pigment later, but she blinks up at him with his own gaze, with her mother's sharpness. She seems to give him a very thorough assessment, before deciding that he can be trusted, and falling back asleep.

Hannibal's exhale is shaky. When he looks back at Will, he finds Will's eyes open, watching. Will smiles, and cups his cheek. "Next time," he whispers, "I'll give you an Alpha."

That is the first time Hannibal breaks gazes with Will first, overwhelmed. He takes Will's hand, their fingers lacing, his other arm carefully cradling their precious gift, and closes his eyes as he hears Will purr for him.


End file.
